


Beauty

by ryttu3k



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Rough Sex, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryttu3k/pseuds/ryttu3k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master sees the destruction he creates. And it's beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

The Master looks out over his new dominion. The skies burn with paradox-fire and his army descends on Earth. If he concentrates, he thinks he can even hear the screams.

And it's beautiful.

He spins the laser screwdriver in his fingers and, without warning, turns it on the Doctor again. The Doctor's screams as his cells twist and mutate are beautiful too, and so is the final product - on all fours and young again, breath coming in ragged gasps, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead.

Without ceremony, he hauls the Doctor up by one arm, his faithful, pretty little Lucy holding his other arm. He can feel muscle tremors beneath the fabric of his coat, can feel the disgust and anger and fear in the Doctor's fractured mind.

"Isn't it beautiful?" the Master whispers, watching the sky.

Lucy giggles, eyes bright with wonder, and the Master smiles to himself. He had had so very much fun breaking her, but the thrill from breaking the Doctor... now that would be something spectacular.

"You can't do this," the Doctor says in a breathy sigh, "You won't succeed."

The Master only grins and bows his head to the Doctor's. "Don't you understand?" he breathes in his ear, "I always succeed."

The despair from the Doctor's mind is exhilarating. His body is as weak as a kitten, aged and reverted in too quick a succession, his cells screaming in pain. So he can't fight back when the Master sends Lucy off, orders the freak to be locked up, bodily hauls him down the stairs and slams him into the table.

"Please," the Doctor whispers. "Please."

"Please what?" the Master says patiently.

Brown eyes meet his, and he can't help but feel the force of the Doctor's emotions. "Please, Master," he whispers, not breaking eye contact with his nemesis.

The Master's lip curls in something very near to contempt. Hauling the Doctor back to his feet by the front of his jacket, he kisses him fiercely, fingers pressing with enough pressure to bruise against his temples. And the Doctor's mind unfolds in his like a strange, brilliant flower.

And he can feel... satisfaction. The Doctor is pleased.

Before the Master can react, can flinch back, the mind picture changes to a simple image. _A silver-leafed tree by a lake, deep red grass tickling bare skin._ "Stop," the Master whispers.

_Two young men under the tree, dressed in the scarlet and orange of their academy. One pale hand in another. One boy blinks too-long brown hair out of his eyes and smiles brightly, brilliantly._

_"I love you, Koschei,"_ memories whisper. _"I love you, Koschei,"_ echoes the Doctor in his mind, this Doctor, the one whose clothing he's bunching in his fists. _"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

The Master tears himself from the Doctor, who staggers back into the table. His body is still weak, but his eyes are bright and alert and piercing. "Koschei," he whispers.

With a ragged howl, he launches himself at the Doctor. He hits him and kisses him at the same time, catching his lip between his teeth and biting until he can taste blood. The Doctor's wrists are solid under his, reassuringly real, his skin cool. Lucy is so hot to touch, but the Doctor is like a balm.

He squeezes until he can feel bone.

There's a strangled sob as he squeezes convulsively, kissing the Doctor until he's dizzy from lack of oxygen, pressing the other Time Lord's body between the table and his own body. The telepathic contact hasn't ceased with the physical, and the Doctor is a never-ending presence in his mind. He fights to regain control, composure. How can the Doctor still have this effect on him, how can he bring him undone with a simple memory?

_"Koschei,"_ the Doctor murmurs in his mind, and he realises that the strangled sob is his own.

He's tearing at the his clothes and the Doctor's, now, using their ties to knot his hands together, tugging the trousers over those stupid trainers he wears. The Doctor moans, both against his mouth and in his mind, and positively _writhes_ against his body.

He can feel the drum beat, in his chest and in his head and where his hands are wrapped around the Doctor's wrists hard enough to break bone on a human, pulsing red in front of his eyes. And in the Doctor's mind is a strange exhilaration. _"Do it,"_ he says in the most intimate whisper imaginable, _"Do it."_

The Master enters the Doctor's mind and body at the same time, with the same savage thrust. Below him, the Doctor arches up wantonly, and his thoughts scatter like stars. His legs are wrapped around the Master's hips, his tied hands looping over his head to kiss him fiercely. And in the mental landscape of their minds, memories of a hundred encounters, a thousand, in so many times and spaces, blend and merge.

_"Koschei,"_ the Doctor mentally whimpers, and this time it isn't a call back to innocence, but something else, a plea for the Master to do something, anything, to heal his fractured thoughts.

Pushing fiercely against the Doctor's thoughts, he fills them with his own. He introduces the Doctor to the feeling of success at his dominion, satisfaction at destruction. He twists the Time War into something beautiful and deadly, and he can feel the Doctor's arousal spike accordingly.

_"Is this what you need, Theta?"_ he asks. All the destruction and death and hurt at the Time War - it's something commendable, a great achievement to utterly destroy not one, but two great species. If anyone was going to cause such irreparable damage, it would be the Doctor. And the Doctor's eyes are open wide, supernovae exploding behind his irises as the Master squeezes his wrists to the bone and creates such destructive beauty in the Doctor's mind.

The Doctor comes with a strangled scream, both out loud and in the Master's mind. And as the euphoria fades and the Doctor's stupid morality takes over, he can feel shame and disgust tinging the golden high as the Master follows with a cry in a language that only the two of them will ever remember.

He recoils as the Master reaches out to touch his cheek. Curling his lip, he cleans himself up and dresses again. The afterglow is fading rapidly, the intimacy disappearing like it had never been. The Doctor is staring at him, his eyes wide and horrified.

_"Do you remember when we fucked to the memory of the Time War?"_ he whispers and calls a guard, murmuring quick instructions. The kiss he presses to the Doctor's lips is light and gentle.

"See you soon," he tells the Doctor, and leaves.


End file.
